


Monachopsis // Kidnapped!NextGen!AU Drabbles

by fantamystiquex



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series), Kidnapped!AU - Fandom, NextGen!Camp Camp, uwu - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Camp camp au, Harrison's parents being less-than-okay at being people, Kidnapped!NextGen!AU, Kidnapping, Magic, Noelle being a cutie, Noelle getting pain she doesn't deserve, Other, Voice Magic!, let's see uh., my dudes, they friggin stole a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 19:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantamystiquex/pseuds/fantamystiquex
Summary: AU where a young 7-year-old girl hears the story of a kidnapped 3 year old "Noelle Goodplay" they have finally given up searching for after 4 years.And that 7 year old girl, is Noelle herself.Harrison's parents find out their son had a child. They follow him around for a while, waiting for a sign. They see this darling little girl, 3 years old, already so smart and talkative, being raised by 3 parents, one of them being their "demonic" son. That's enough to make these two take this girl away. So one day, at the one moment Nerris lets the twins out of her sight, the one moment Nathanael forgets to hold his twin's hand, they snatch her.They raise her as their own, giving her the name "Natalie" to replace her real name.For 4 years, all they've been doing is trying to hide Natalie's past from her. But through shreds of memories, late-night television, and adults who may contain more secrets than they tell, she finds out.And hoooo boy, she's mad.





	Monachopsis // Kidnapped!NextGen!AU Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> i'm . I'm doing stuff. hurra h hh h. there it be. lots of drabbles in no particular order.

  
      It was almost unreal, the strong smell of cinnamon lingering in the kitchen. Something that was supposed to be so exciting seemed out of place in this old house. Natalie wanted another mother, another father, another kitchen. Another house, with long red curtains like the ones on television, a big bed with piles of bright purple pillows, a spoonful of caramel (a forbidden food in this little family of hers) in her mouth and a warm voice telling her-  
  _“C’mon, Noey, eat your cinnamon roll.”_  
_That’s not my name,_ Natalie realized. _Nobody’s called me that, except for...Pixie’s parents. They’ve seen me before, her mom’s waved at me. “Hi, Noe-- Natalie.” She would say, her smile would fade, and she’d pick it up quickly, turning away to deal with her own child. What did she know?_

     She looked up. It wasn’t her mother- that wasn’t her mother in front of her, was it? There was no way it couldn’t be! Look at her skin- that was Natalie’s skin color! It was nearly identical, Natalie gasped, trying to stop the lump in her throat rising up and threatening to make her scream right then and there.  
Natalie glanced down at her hands- no, these weren’t her hands, were they? It became harder not to scream, the urge to yell and whine and protest pulling at her insides and kicking at her lips, struggling to show itself. She pushed it down again. These hands were barely the size of two quarters, the fingers poked at their surroundings meaninglessly. Where was she? Who was she?  
    _“Maybe she just doesn’t want the cinnamon roll, Pres’.”_  
Nobody in her family went by the name “Pres”. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.  
It became clear to her after a while that she was not controlling this baby’s body. This must be some kind of third-person nightmare, Natalie thought, hoping, waiting, to wake up, so this would all be over and she could put together these pieces of a puzzle she didn’t know how to solve.

    The man feeding her (A man with rather androgynous features, she noticed, with a voice to match, but some part of her recognized him as a man. A familiar man. Where had she seen him before…?) gave her a little smile, his bright yellow eyes as warm and welcoming as the sun peeking in through the windows.  
_“If my darling husband can eat a package of cinnamon rolls and still be hungry, I fully expect that she can suffer through a couple of bites.”_ He shot back at the voice behind him. Another voice- a female voice this time, deep and comforting, laughed.  
_“He’s got you there, Harrison.”_  
They were such a lively bunch! Laughing and poking fun at each other and giving each other kisses on the top of the head- this was a family she could only dream of having.  
Oh, the things she would give to be a part of their little world!

And in a second, she lost it. The sun hugging tight at this little family, with their never-fading smiles and laughter, the familiar faces, the warm hugs- it was gone, pushed away like the wind had blown it from her grasp. She felt a pang of longing, and another one of realization once the silence was replaced with loud voices, nearly painful to hear, ringing in her head. Opening her eyes, Natalie found herself face-down in a bowl of soggy oatmeal.  
      “Natalie, dear, are you alright?” Her mother gasped with relief, seeing Natalie wake up, rapidly trying to lift her head and clean the oatmeal from her curly red hair, but it was useless. She gave up, and with a long sigh, she told Natalie to go take a shower.  
Every step took an unreasonable amount of effort. She hoped her mother wouldn’t notice how slow she was being, but her mother was rinsing out bowls and preparing bagels as an alternative for Natalie’s breakfast. As long as Natalie’s mother was focused on something, she didn’t pay any attention to her surroundings.

    Instead of taking a shower like her mother asked, Natalie dipped her head under the faucet, pouring a cupful of shampoo and conditioner on it like she always did, and turned it on. Even though this usually relaxed her, Natalie found herself more tense than she was before. The memories that had taken over her earlier kept replaying in her head, and she needed to sort them out before she could get anything else done.  
She threw herself on her bed. There was one thing she always used to do when she was upset. Would it help now?  
It wasn’t a question she needed a straight answer to. As quietly as she possibly could, she locked the door, repositioned herself on her bed, and sang.  
Somehow, for as long as she could remember, there was one song that kept her calm. Natalie couldn’t sing it when she needed to- her voice was her magic, and both of her parents hated magic. She didn’t know why, but she knew she didn’t want to get into any trouble.  
_“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray…”_  
Immediately, she recognized that this was not her voice. Not only that, but it was in her head. If she had been singing at all, she couldn't remember anymore. It was a voice as warm and comfortable as the one the man from her dream had, the man that was trying to feed her a cinnamon roll. Now it sounded tired, but remained happy. She had realized that he didn't use the voice others used around her- the voice that practically screamed "You're different." The voice that people used when they looked at her parents, then looked at her. As odd as it may sound, this voice was becoming more enjoyable to listen to than her parents ever were.

_"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you."_

These words struck her in a way she didn’t know she was capable of feeling. It was like being hit in the face by a brick made of mysterious memory-voices, a feeling Natalie didn’t know if she should be as interested in as she was.

It hurt, in some weird way, but she kept on doing it, with a small shred of hope.

Hope that she’d find out what this all meant.

Hope that she’d find out who the girl on television was.

Hope that maybe, one day, as hard as it was to admit, she would find her place somewhere- somewhere that wasn’t here.

Anywhere but here.Thoughts rushed through her mind like a bullet train, all sounding similar.

 

_But they’re your family. They love you. You love them._

It was all quickly followed by the ‘what-if’s, a little slower, a little easier to understand, and a little more painful to imagine.

_What if they’re not? What if they don’t? What if **I** don’t?_     

She waited for more thoughts to come pooling in. She waited for the ‘don’t think that way’. She waited for the 'that's not true'.

 

It never came.

****  
  



End file.
